


make me feel something, something

by substandard



Series: make me feel something, something [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-15
Updated: 2018-06-15
Packaged: 2019-05-23 16:03:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14937479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/substandard/pseuds/substandard
Summary: “Oh, look. Jaymes Young is playing. Your favorite,” Lance chuckles, but sadness still lingers in his eyes. He shifts his gaze from Keith’s unmoving hands to his pale face, hoping for any kind of physical response.Nothing.“Please wake up.” He whispers, voice breaking. He presses his hands against the edge of the hospital bed.“I need you.”How two soul mates, once shining together in a beautiful harmony, ended up crashing and burning in an off-beat symphony.





	make me feel something, something

**Author's Note:**

> This first chapter is going to be brief and bad.
> 
> It's mostly to begin developing characters, as well as start expressing their backstories.  
> Hopefully upcoming chapters will have many more interesting aspects! <3
> 
> An important heads up: Only the bold text represent a change in time. The lines simply indicate later in the day, or possible/occasionally the next day. 
> 
> Nonetheless, I hope you enjoy x
> 
> Also, this is un-revised. If there are any grammar or spelling errors, I sincerely apologize!

touch me someone  
i’m too young to feel so  
numb, numb, numb, numb

**Present**

Keith takes a sharp breath in. He opens his eyes, but he shuts them just as abruptly. His vision is blurry- he can barely tell there’s a person standing to the side of his bed, nervously fidgeting with a blanket the hospital provided. They’re looking down, almost as if too worried to even notice the newly awakened patient. 

After attempting once again to open his eyes, Keith finally manages to find a spot to focus his eyes on.

He overhears a conversation occurring somewhere of the room, but he doesn’t recognize the voices. He glances around the room, wincing as pain begins swiftly spreading throughout his body. That’s when he comes to the realization: 

He’s in a hospital.

Though remaining calm would be the most logical solution, freaking out is the only alternative  
that comes to Keith’s mind. 

Except he doesn’t have the strength. 

In a pitiful attempt to speak, Keith lets out a hoarse, disgruntled whisper. Though his respiratory mask disallows a lot of his voice to pass through, he was just barely loud enough.  
Suddenly, the unknown figure standing beside his bed perks up their head. Keith looks up just in time to see their pout quickly transform into a smile. However, their eyes are still screaming with worry.

“Keith? Keith? Are you awake? Oh my God, someone get a nurse! Keith woke…” The voice fades away as Keith closes his eyes, drifting back to sleep.

**Four Years Ago**  
**Freshmen, College**  
**Lance**

Lance’s birthday was just last week—the week before school began: August 20th. He’s by far one of the youngest people in the college: just barely 18. Lance doesn’t really care. 

In his entire life, he had never experienced a birthday as lonesome as this one. Back home, he had eight brothers and sisters to comfort him all day; he never knew how much he took that for granted until he had to begin packing his bags for college.

It’s not like he doesn’t have friends, because he does. They love and support him just as his family does, but Lance just can’t help but feel emptier inside. 

But now, he at least has motivation. He can always look forward to seeing his family.

And, of course, meeting his soulmate.

It is well-known that once you turn 18, you can contact your Soul Mate. Anything you write on your arms will appear on theirs— Though this isn’t the easiest form of communication, it’s about as good as it gets. 

Lance has never been one to half-ass things; it’s always been “Go big or go home”. That’s partly why as soon as he was able to, he reached out to his Soul Mate.

The other part was more selfish.

He had always fanaticized about his Soul Mate. For years, he dreamt of how she’d look. He imagined every aspect of her, from small aspects to crucial features that make up her personality. He considered the ideals she might have, and what career she’d choose to take on.

She’d have gorgeous blonde hair that took life in the wind.  
She’d have blue eyes that’d light up in even the darkest times.  
And she’d have the cutest dimples that couldn’t help but bring smiles to everyone else’s faces.

She’d be perfect.

So, when he turned 18, part of him knew it was the right thing to do to reach out. It was the nice thing to do, after all.

The other part just desperately wanted to meet his unknown lover. 

He has never previously received any messages from his Soul Mate, so he assumes he’s the older one. That’s okay, as Soul Mates are typically around the same age. That means they should be able to respond soon.

Lance has an overwhelming personality, he knows that. He doesn’t want to weird out his “SM”, or Soul Mate, so he never writes anything bizarre.  
“Hope you do well at school today!”

No response.

“Good luck on any tests!”  
Not even a smiley.

Lance doesn’t care. Or, at least, he tries to believe he doesn’t care. Lance is disappointed with the lack of response, but he knows he shouldn’t be. After all, his SM might not even be 18, and thus can’t respond. 

Nevertheless, as he enters his new college, all he worries about is reuniting with his friends.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

“He kept making fun of my glasses. Total douche.” Pidge, mid-vent, is shoving food into her mouth. It’s only been about half of a day since school has begun, but they’re fairly adjusted. 

Lance and his gang are sitting together at a lunch table: Pidge and Hunk next to each other on one side, Lance on the opposing one.

He’s known them since grade school. Naturally, they all applied to the same college: Garrison. It wasn’t a shock they all got in, but it was still exhilarating to be reunited with his childhood friends. 

“You should beat him up.” Lance shoves food in his mouth, then continues his thought as he chews. “Give him a good right hook.” He mimics a punch, and makes an accompanying “pew-pew” sound effect.

Hunk scoffs, refusing to participate. He’s by far the nicest in the friend group. He’s an excellent hugger, as well as is filled to the brim with kindness. He eventually can’t help but join in, though. “Yeah, right hook? With what arms?” He elbows Pidge, who glares at him in return.

“You know, it isn’t easy being 4’11.” Pidge starts, but then is immediately distracted by the writing on Lance’s inner wrist. “You’re talking to your soulmate?”

Lance smiles, then frowns. That’s always where he writes his messages to his SM: his inner wrist.  
He knows it’s a smart place to spot messages, as it’s easy to see. Whether you’re writing, raising your hand, or typing, you always catch a glimpse of your wrist.

And, God knows Lance wants his Soul Mate to respond **ASAP**. 

Lance is well aware that his friends know that Soul Mates are important to him. However, it’s never occurred to him that this might be a topic of discussion. He didn’t think his friends would be interested, and/or care at all. However, that’s not going to stop him. “I wish. She hasn’t responded.”

Pidge laughs, then rests the back of her hand on her forehead. She swoons, batting her eyes. “Maybe she’s just in love with another man.”

Lance smiles, showing off his bleach-white teeth. “You and I both know that I’m the hottest guy around here.” He finger guns, then winks.

Pidge sits up straight, then grins. “And yet she’s still picking someone else over you.” 

“Oh, har-har-har,” Lance mocks. “Hardy-har-har-har.” 

“What? Is that even English?” Pidge stands up, then proceeds to mimic Lance. She places her knuckles on her sides and lets her fingers curve upwards, towards her wrist. She leans forward. “Hi, I’m Lance, and I can’t speak English. Har-Har-Hibbity-Har.”

Lance gasps, instantly recognizing Pidge’s posture. The one and only SpongeBob meme. He can practically hear the capital letters in her speech. 

“How dare you use—no, manipulate—our Lord and Savior like this? Using them to attack me?” He suddenly deadpans. “You’re canceled.”

Pidge laughs, then sits back down. “If I’m canceled, then you were never on.” 

Hunk chuckles softly. “I love that we’re all making fun of Lance, but we really should get to class.” He nods upwards, signaling to Lance and Pidge that everyone else is either leaving, or has already left. 

Pidge reluctantly gets back up, then smirks to Lance. “We’re continuing this conversation later.”

Lance ignores her, waves ‘goodbye’ to Hunk, then walks to his next class: Psych 101.

On his way to class, he sees a poster recruiting members for a Theatre club hanging in the hallway. It’s tilted; there’s one singular thumbtack holding the poster up on the upper right-hand corner. 

“Theatre Club…” Lance mumbles, eyeing the list of names. Just as he was about to write his own name using the pencil taped to the sheet, an unfamiliar voice calls out from behind him.

“Theatre?” Lance turns around, startled by the feminine voice. “That’s gay.” They chuckle. 

Lance is pretty open about his bisexuality, but he doesn’t tend to flaunt it in front of strangers. It’s not that he’s ashamed--he isn’t--but he doesn’t want to upset the wrong people. After all, it’s a new college. He doesn’t know every single individual, nor does he know what’s socially accepted or not.

He also doesn’t want to make certain people think he’s not interested.

More often than not, he is.

“Oh, yeah.” Lance smirks, barely flashing his pearl-white smile. “I wasn’t considering joining, anyway. Just wanted to see what it was.” That’s a lie. Lance loves theatre. In fact, he’s associated with numerous performances in this area. 

“Oh.” The girl begins. “Then step aside, please.”

Lance moves aside as he’s asked, then eagerly watches the girl jot down her name. Nyma Charles.

Lance smiles. Hot name for a hot girl. 

Nyma winks at Lance, then walks off. As she’s walking away, Lance watches her subtle hip movements. 

Damn. He thinks. She’s hot.

Moments pass, and Lance is standing there dumbfounded. He suddenly turns and quickly writes down his name directly underneath hers. Lance McClain.

He subconsciously smiles at the list, then proceeds to make his way to class. 

He runs down the halls, and it’s only a matter of seconds before he reaches the door. 

He runs into his classroom, just barely making it in time before class has officially began. His fellow classmates, seated in the many rows of the classroom, stare at him expectantly. He doesn’t mind, though. Lance loves the attention.

He winks at no specific person as he makes his way to the back row. He eventually settles on a seat in the middle: directly next to a kid with a weird mullet.

**Present Day**

“Lance, are you sure he was awake?” 

“He was!” Lance desperately wants Shiro to believe him. Shiro is like Keith’s father; he grew with him in many foster homes.

“You have to believe me.” Lance chokes out. “He was awake.” Bags have formed under his eyes, expressing his exhaustion. Shiro notices, and tells him to go home.

“I’ll talk to the doctor. But for now, you should head home.” Shiro puts a protective hand on Lance’s shoulder. “Get some rest. I’ll update you if anything happens.”  
Lance doesn’t want to go. He wants to stay and wait for Keith to wake up again. His heart aches with sadness, grief, and loss. He just wants one more moment with Keith.  
One more quirky Keith moment.  
He wants to see Keith fidget with his hair nervously before he needs to get up and give a presentation to the class.  
He wants to see Keith relentlessly yell at the TV screen, heated during a Mario Kart match.  
He wants to see Keith cover his face with his hands in a sad attempt to hide his embarrassment.  
But he doesn’t want to disappoint Shiro, so he nods and reluctantly heads towards the door.

“And Lance?” Shiro asks, watching Lance pause at the doorframe. “He’ll be okay.” He smiles reassuringly, and Lance can’t help but feel a small bit better.

“Yeah.” Lance exits, closing the door softly behind him.

 ------------------------------------------------------------------------ 

“It appears that Keith has managed to resume his coma-like position.” The Doctor mutters, writing notes down frantically. “I don’t know how it’s possible.”

“You don’t know how it’s possible? That doesn’t seem like something you should be bragging about” Shiro chuckles, but his eyes remain serious. “Do you at least know when he will wake up again?”

The Doctor sighs, then rubs his eyes. “I know this is difficult, but you must understand. All we can do for now is monitor his blood pressure and heart rate. We’ve never encountered something like this prior to Keith.  
“After the accident, whiplash to Keith’s body occurred. He was met with severe ligament damage. We’re doing the best we can, but it’s extremely challenging to read the body while he is in this unconscious state. One crucial element, well, to be blunt, fixing people, is seeing how their body reacts to the tests performed. Currently, he isn’t in good enough physical condition for us to be analyzing him accurately.”

“So you don’t have any idea of how you’re going to go about this?” Shiro has many admirable qualities. One that is particularly sharp is his ability to see right through bullshit-- he can effortlessly tell when someone is bluffing, or simply beating around the bush.

“No, sir, that’s not the ca—“

“Then do your job and heal him.” Shiro’s firm tone provides the impression that he isn’t joking around. That’s only appropriate, considering he isn’t. 

The doctor, whose name is still unknown, as, quite frankly, no one really cares, nods respectfully then exits.

Shiro opens the door and checks to make sure no hospital staff is coming to their room. After confirming that the coast is clear, Shiro grabs his phone from his pocket and dials Lance’s number in one fluid, swift motion.

It only rings for a few seconds before an eager Lance picks up the call.

“Shiro?”

It doesn’t take long for Shiro to run the conversation that had just occurred by Lance. Though Lance usually loves to talk, he lets Shiro dominate this tête-à-tête. He rarely interrupts; in the few times he does, it’s only for clarification or a follow-up question.

“Did he mention when he’d be waking up again?”

Shiro gulps. He can hear the worry in Lance’s voice.

“No, he didn’t.”

He can sense sadness through the phone, so Shiro adds some additional reassuring words. 

“But, he woke up once. Today. That was confirmed. So, who is to say that he won’t again anytime soon?”

Lance softly chuckles, but that alone is enough to relieve Shiro. 

“Yeah. Plus, he probably misses me too much to go much longer. I mean, who wouldn’t want to see my face after an accident?” Lance jokes, but he knows it’s inappropriate. He doesn’t really care, though. He’s never truly experienced loss before, so he doesn’t know how to comfort himself in this unfamiliar situation.

“Of course.” 

There was a pregnant pause greeted with muffled voices from Shiro’s end. Suddenly, Shiro’s voice was back on the phone.

“I have to go. The hospital is worrying about payment methods and such.”

They end the call, and that’s that.

**Four Years Ago**  
**Freshmen, College**  
**After School**  
**Lance**

After school, Lance doesn’t have time to catch up with any of his friends. He’s used to it; he almost never does. 

That’s what having a job tends to do: entirely destroy any possibilities of you having enough time to hang out with friends.

Instead of doing what majority of his fellow college do and asking their families for money, Lance insists he gets a job where he can, independently, have a steady cash flow. He assures his family—or mom, more specifically—that it’s strictly because he feels he needs more discipline, and getting a job will be the perfect opportunity to fulfill that need. 

He doesn’t mention how he understands his family is going through a financial speedbump, and how he doesn’t want to put his family through any additional stress.

Nonetheless, Lance is genuinely content with his new job. 

He works at a coffee shop just down the street from the University. Lance adores the aura it gives off, as well as the overall aesthetic of the place. 

It’s small, but it’s laced with detail. 

There’s a rocky pathway leading from the main street to the entrance. Alongside the trail are various types of flowers, each plant blossoming. 

There isn’t a lot on the outside aside from a few seats and one or two umbrellas. It doesn’t really matter, though—it’s the inside that pulls it all together. 

There are vintage photographs hung all over the wooden walls, allowing incoming visitors to admire the brilliant photo-taking techniques, as well as learn about the history of the shop’s owner. Each image beautifully depicts an impactful event that occurred in the owner’s family.

The layout of the pastries is cleverly designed so that as you enter, the mouthwatering smell circulates around your entire body. 

There are lights carefully draped from the ceiling to the sides of the wall. There are rounded tables near the center, each accompanied by two to three chairs for seating. 

Lance cleans the tables.

He knows, not a difficult job, but he doesn’t mind, as long as he isn’t requesting money from his family.

He comes on Mondays and Wednesdays: the two days his courses end earlier. Sometimes he can make it on Thursdays, but he’s also on a swim team that only hosts meets on that specific day.

Today was going as the days normally do, and everything was clean within an hour.

\------------------------------------------------------- 

“Why’re you being so distant, baby?” Lance deepens his voice, flirting into the phone.

An unhinged Pidge is snorting from laughter on the other side. “I don’t want to come over. I’m hanging out with my dorm-mate.”

“You’re so lame,” Lance groans. “But fine. Hunk and I don’t need you.”

“Alright, but try not to miss me too much.”

“Don’t worry, we wo-“

Pidge ends the call.

Lance rolls his eyes, then puts down his phone. “Hunk, how much longer until you have to go?” He asks, peering over at Hunk.

“Not much longer,” Hunk says, tapping away on his phone. He suddenly stands up. “I’ve got to go meet Shay.”

A mischievous grin spreads across Lance’s face. He rushes over to Hunk, and persuades him out the door. “Go! Go get some!” 

Hunk turns, his eyebrows wide, as if saying _what?_

Lance is too excited for him to notice, and swiftly slams the door shut as soon as Hunk is fully out.

He goes back into the dorm and stands there for a few moments, wondering what to do. He then grabs a pen from the kitchen counter, sighs, then walks over to the coach.

He rolls up his sleeve and clicks open the pen. 

Just as he’s about to write his SM a message, something lower on his forearm catches his eye.

A line.

A red line, just sitting there.

Lance isn’t one to over analyze things, but he is one to quickly jump to conclusions.

His Soul Mate doesn’t know it’s sweater season.

“Exposed arms?” Lance laughs. “In this weather?”

**Four Years Ago**  
**Freshmen, College**  
**Before School**  
**Keith**

Keith has Emotional Detachment Disorder-- he developed it less than two years ago. It didn’t come as a shock; Keith has always had difficulty relating and connecting to other people.

But, he made it through High School. Barely, as he encountered many bullies and obstacles. In the end, he overcame them, almost entirely because of Shiro’s seemingly unlimited support.

It wasn’t incredibly hard, as Keith always had one solid thing he could continuously count on: his art. He knows it’s cliché, but he’s always found a way to ‘escape reality’ through his abstract; sometimes the mixing of colors and blends is the only way he can express his emotion.

He instantly knew he was going to be majoring in Fine Arts. It wasn’t a difficult choice.

It’s just the whole college part that’s exasperating. 

Keith isn’t excited to begin this new part of his life; he always found it difficult to meet people, let alone actually befriend them. 

He wasn’t particularly keen when, a week before school began, he glanced at his arm and saw a sappy pickup line:

Are you religious? Cause, girl, you’re the answers to all my prayers.

Two things bothered Keith within that one line.  
**One** : Keith isn’t a girl.  
**Two** : He doesn’t want a Soul Mate. And knows damn well that when that his Soul Mate finally meets Keith, they’ll be incredibly disappointed.

Keith is 19, so he can respond. He just doesn’t want to; he knows he’ll either be a major let-down or he’ll end up breaking their heart.

Keith has two friends: Shiro, and Pidge. 

He met Pidge at a summer camp when they were in Middle School and have been friends ever since. They never got the opportunity to go to the same school, but they usually hung out on weekends or whenever convenient.  
Now, they share a dorm.  
A boy and a girl wouldn’t typically be allowed to share a dorm, but the school is aware of Keith’s position and wanted him to feel as comfortable as possible.

Shiro, after meeting him at a foster home, has always been seen by Keith as the big brother. He feels comforted by Shiro’s approval, and usually tries to abide by Shiro’s rules and lectures.

Other than that, Keith is alone.

\-------------------------------------------------------- 

On the first day, Keith puts on a loose, black tank top. He puts on matching black jeans with tears in them, and then ties a red plaid jacket around his waist.

“Wow, you look so emo!” Pidge grins from the doorframe of his room.

“The fu—Did you watch me change?” Keith frantically tries to cover himself, only to realize he’s already wearing clothes, and hence has nothing to cover.

“No, dummy. I just walked by.” She glares at him as if he’s the one being outrageously weird. “Want breakfast?” She tosses him a banana.

“Wow, nice breakfast.” Keith says, expressionless. “Thanks.”

Pidge laughs. “Just try not to get too gay with it. Y’know, like, the ban—“

She can’t finish her sentence before Keith is dropping his banana, walking over to her, and picking her up.  
“Hey! Hey!” Pidge screams, pounding her fists against Keith’s back. “This is valuable merchandise you’re holding!”

Keith stops by their couch, and then throws Pidge onto it. She’s laying there laughing like a little girl.

“This is your warning.” Keith says, pointing at Pidge. He tries to remain serious, but he can’t help but crack a smile. 

“Okay, okay! Jesus! Get as gay with it as you want.” Pidge says, wiping away her happy-tears.

Keith takes a step towards Pidge then stops. “What time is it?”

“9.”

“Shit!” Keith exclaims. “I have to get to my first class. Missing it on the first day would be pretty shitty.”

“Do you have any other word in your entire vocabulary aside from “shit”?” Pidge asks, sneering.

“No, actually, I don’t.” Keith teases, moving his head from side-to-side histrionically. He begins making his way to the door, when Pidge stops him.  
“Wait! You need a pen for school!” Pidge yells, running to the kitchen to grab one.

Keith scoffs. “Why?”

“For the classes, dumbass.” She got one, a red pen, and opens the cap. She draws one line on Keith’s forearm. “You know, for making sure it works.”

“That’s actually pretty smart. Thanks,” He tucks the pen into his backpack, which was laying on the ground. 

“You’d be nothing without me.” Pidge smiles. It’s a kind smile; it has no hidden anger or frustrations. It’s genuine. 

“You talk a big game for such a small person.” And with that, Keith walks out the door and heads to his class.

\---------------------------------------------------------------- 

For lunch, Keith makes his way to the Library. He happened to have an energy bar packed from his dorm, so he’ll be eating that as his main course. 

Within the library, he doesn’t really know what to do. He could read, but that’s not why he came.

He truthfully came because he appreciates the oasis of serenity the library provides; how it’s calming and quiet.

He makes his way to the very end of the Library and takes out his phone. He dials Shiro’s number once, and it just barely rings twice before Shiro responds.

“Keith?”  


“Hey. Just calling to check in,” Keith says, awkwardly holding the phone. In truth, he doesn’t know why he called. He was beginning to feel numb.

“You? Checking in?” Shiro laughs, and Keith can practically see his grin. “I should be the one checking in. How are you? How are things?”

Keith smiles, then goes back to his resting-pout-face (RPF, as Pidge likes to call it). “Things are good. I’ve only had one class, but it wasn’t exactly memorable.”

“Wai—“ Shiro suddenly seems worried and annoyed. “Is it lunch for you? Are you avoiding talking to people?”

Keith gives an exaggerated ‘ha-ha’, emphasizing on the ‘a’s. “Yeah, funny thing about that...” He trails off.

“No. Go hang out with people, talk to them.” Keith bends backwards—instead of being civilized, and turning around, like a normal person—to look at the clock behind him. He reads the time. Shit. “Tough luck, but lunch just ended. Got to head to my next lecture.”

Shiro groans. “What is it?”

Keith says “Psych 101. Got to blast. Good talk.” 

“Wha-“  


Keith hangs up the phone and tucks it away in his pocket. He then sprints to his next class, hoping he isn’t late. 

Though he ran an incredibly large distance at a very fast rate, he enters the classroom unfazed. 

Guess those years of track paid off.

**Psych 101**

Lance comes in moments after Keith.

Keith had already taken a seat in the back-end of the class. He had already witnessed Lance wink multiple times. He had already began disliking Lance.

It wasn’t a dislike-dislike-- He doesn’t even know Lance. Keith’s just put-off by his outgoing personality.

His heart didn’t exactly swoon at the fact that Lance had chosen to sit directly next to Keith. 

Keith clenches his jaw, clearly uncomfortable. 

Lance appears oblivious.

“Hiya, how you doing?” Lance says, resting his elbow on his desk and his head on his hand. He then suddenly laughs. “Nice mullet.”

Keith bites down on his bottom lip, again expressing his discomfort. He looks down at his desk, then back up at Lance. “Are you joking?”

Lance didn’t expect this guy to be so weird. “Uh, yeah,” He says, shifting his body so it’s facing where the professor will be standing. “Sorry.”

Keith nods, then turns around and grabs something out of his backpack.

A notebook. 

“Is that a diary?” Lance asks, turning his attention back to Keith.

Keith ignores him and flips through a few pages; each filled with beautiful art, filled from top to bottom with intricate lines and detail. Keith locates an available page and begins sketching a portrait using the pen Pidge packed for him. 

It’s of Shiro, but Lance doesn’t know that.

Lance watches in awe. Keith is surprisingly talented. However, instead of complimenting Keith—like a normal person—he hits him with a:

“How ‘bout you draw me? Like one of your French girls?” He winks, and flips his hair. 

Keith turns to Lance, dropping his pen in the process. “ _Are you fucking kidding me?_ ”


End file.
